Habits, Wishes, Desires, Dreams
by anarchic equity
Summary: Sherlock and John getting to know each other, becoming acquaintances, colleagues, friends, lovers, family. Kind of prequel to "It s a boy!". Johnlock. I take requests.
1. Flat

**Flat**

_Sherlock: _

John wants to move in on Friday. Likes the flat, but not my stuff, obviously. Declared it as thrash. Got to show him some of my work, my experiments. Maybe he´ll be able to understand. Think he´ll like the decomposing toenails. Medical man after all. Must wear something now when at home. Remember buying nightgown. Ugh, shopping… Ask Mycroft to get one delivered? I doubt. Search the internet for one. Tidy up a bit before John comes to sign the papers today? Make a good impression so that he doesn´t change his mind? …dull, but however… Got 8 hours. Clean up later, kidney now.

_John:_

Nice flat. Lived in. Got History. Some of my medical books, my army memorabilia and a warm cup of tea? Could be home. Weird guy, Sherlock Holmes, but seems a nice feller. I hope I can get used to him and his habits. Everybody I told I´ll move in gave me a grave warning. It´s not like he´ll eat me alive the first night I spend in the flat…? No, he won´t do that. It was weird having him showing me around. He was kinda …proud …of this mess. The books, the papers, the maps, the knifes, the cigarettes. It´s very much Sherlock. Or so I think. He proposed to clean up "a bit". Had a very endearing smile. Sign papers tomorrow 10 am at Mrs Hudsons´. New address 221 B Baker Street!

**Hope you enjoy it. Show me some love or leave a request through a comment.**


	2. Tea

**Tea**

"Tea?"

"Please."

_John:_

Sherlock seems to like tea. He always asks me to make some or takes s sip from my cup. Then again he doesn´t seem to prefer a special brand, he just orders for "tea" and if I ask him which one he feels like, he´ll say "Whatever you like" or not answer at all, being caught in his own world again. So I´ll put the kettle on, choose a brand, wait a few minutes, throw the bags away and hand him his cup. And he´ll snap his head in my direction and look at me through his clear grey eyes. And I´ll feel some sort of connection between us. Maybe it´s just that he appreciates my tea.

_Sherlock:_

John loves tea. Hardly see him drinking something else when at home. He drinks it to get up, to come down, to relax, to think, to sleep, to watch TV, to read a book, to write his blog. He seems obsessed. Currently making and offering it. I´m not that much of a fan. Most brands taste dull. But when John hands me the cup and I take a sip he is pleased. And tea´s not so bad after all.

**Hope I can update more frequently since the chapters are that short.**

**I also think about a fic only dedicated to Johnlocks´ sexgames. Interested?**


	3. Personal Space

**Personal Space**

_Sherlock:_

I don´t have to use the toilet. I don´t have to use the toilet. I don´t have to use the toilet. I am the master of my body. I can overcome any of its´ needs. I don´t have to use the toilet. Aw, fuck it! Stupid John with his enormous amounts of tea.

_John:_

Ah, the hot water feels good. My clothes are totally soaked through and smell like I had dived in the Thames. I probably should get them to the cleaners´, but that costs a good amount of money. Maybe I can ask Sherlock to lend me some. But who am I fooling, I can´t pay back. I really need a job. Can´t be that hard to find as ex-army doctor with a bad shoulder and limb. Man that´s frustrating! Maybe I can get rid of the pressure for now…? John Watson, what are you thinking! You are a grown-up male, not a hormone-guided teenager! …Well yes, I am a grown-up, in my flat, under my shower…

"Could you keep your primal needs under control for at least the time I need for the loo?"

"Sherlock!"

"As much as I enjoy to see you in full glory, John, could you please fully close the shower curtain as I find it hard to pee while being distracted by your nude body."

John angrily ripped the curtain close.

"My god, Sherlock! Have you never heard of personal space?"

"I have. Highly overrated. It´s not like your penis becomes smaller through me, seeing it."

The toilet flushing could be heard.

"Well, thank you! I really loved to see yours too!" John commented sarcastically.

Sherlock pressed his lips together and made a hasty retreat.

**For MrsCumberbatch. Thanks for your support!**

**I know we all want Sherlock to enter that shower, but not yet. Show some love and until next time!**


	4. Phallus

**Phallus**

_John:_

Oh no! He´s sulking again, crouched together on the couch in fetal position, his back turned to me. What have I done now? It´s not like I got rid of his blunt scalpel again. I learned my lesson! Should I put a blanket over him? Could possibly cause a funny reaction… or he´ll just be annoyed.

_Sherlock:_

Gotta ask him, need data, need information. Suppose that´d be "socially inadequate". He´d be surprised, rise his eyebrows, his voice would pitch, he´d say it´s "not good". Can´t ask. Think of other things. No case. No experiments, waiting for the latest results. Mrs H? Lestrade? Myc… No. John? Yes! Something about John? John, John… ask John! Yes!... No!

"John?"

"Yes?" John didn´t look up from his paper.

"…What do you think about… my… phallus?" John did look up from his paper.

"What!" His eyebrows rose and his voice pitched.

"My penis. Really John, as a doctor you should know the Latin terminus."

John cleared his throat.

"I know the term. But how may I be able to answer a question about your... phallus?"

"Since you have seen it earlier that day" John beamed "even if you just took a peek, or saw it in your peripheral angle.."

"What, Sherlock?" Johns´ voice was kinder now, since Sherlock searched for words.

"…is it… okay?"

And John suddenly understood Sherlock much better.

"Yes, it is."

"Uh, okay."

"Okay."

**Please keep your eyes open for "Sexperiments"!**


	5. Daymare

**Daymare**

_Sherlock:_

Strange. Can´t smell the sweet scent of tealeaves. The air isn´t at its´ average humidity. Coming home with no tea waiting for me? Normally, John would have made it by now, eagerly waiting for my report, at once trying not to seem so. I hear couching. John! Door´s open. He´s been expecting me. John!

Dust in his lungs.

The burning heat of Afghanistans´ sun.

His mouth like the dessert he stood upon.

The smell of burned flesh.

Shouting from all directions.

Loud shots and screams of agony.

Suddenly, a terrible pain in his shoulder, like a glowing lance, splitting him in two.

The world spun.

His vision blurred.

The sounds were muffled.

And he was on the ground.

Left for dying.

…

"Please god, let me live!"

"Please.."

"…ohn…"

"Please…"

"…John…"

"Please…"

"John!"

"Sherlock!" John woke up with a start. He barely looked at his friend, covered his face with his hands instead.

"John…"

_John:_

He doesn´t know what to say. Of course. Damn sociopath! He doesn´t even… oh!

Sherlock laid his right hand lightly on Johns´ arm.

His chin trembled.

His eyes flickered.

"If you want to… you know…"

Sherlock cleared his throat.

"You know…"

He took a deep breath.

"…Tea?"

Johns´ lips curled.

"Yes, please."

**I only discovered today, that one has to be intelligent to really ´get´ Sherlock (the series). So like he says: Must be so boring in the little minds of them…**


	6. Drugs

**Drugs**

_John:_

He doesn´t look too good today.

_Sherlock:_

I feel the craving inside me. The burning. The longing. It tugs at my skin. It tickles my organs. My stomach turns. I clench my fists to get rid of that pressure. My legs jerk. I jump up just to see the world spinning around me and my head is going to explode. I feel like puking. I lay down again. The longing! I can´t take it anymore!

Sherlock shot up again, striving in a rush for the bathroom.

The silver etui was strategically positioned behind a loose white floor tile behind the mirror.

Within it: the liquid Sherlock oh so desired.

Sherlock stretched his slender fingers to embrace the slim glass tube.

He let it delicately glide through his fingers, held it in the light and watched the liquid shimmer, and felt the coolness of the glass against his palm.

As Sherlock rushed out of the room in the direction of the kitchen he saw his image in the neglected mirror. It was an image of a druggie, of an addict, of a maniac. But it didn´t matter. The need was too strong and John…

John didn´t care! Sherlock wanted to shout.

JOHN DOESN´T CARE!

If John would have cared, he wouldn´t have gone out! Even if it was for work.

If he cared…

Sherlock angrily kicked the trashcan.

There were clean needles in the fridge, in the butter container.

He reached for it, already anticipating eagerly the upcoming high.

It took a few seconds, but Sherlock stopped in the middle of the process, and noticed a plate.

There was a sandwich on it, heavily filled.

And a note said: ´Please eat this. For me.´

And Sherlock felt a high.

**I almost let Sherlock say: "My precious!" as he played with the cocaine. No trashcans were harmed in the writing of this story.**

**Have you known that a symptom of detox can be boredom?**


	7. Hands

**Hands**

"Sherlock, a text."

"Mhm."

Sherlock was hovering over his microscope, simply holding out his hand.

John sighed.

"Sherlock, I´m not gonna hand it to you."

Sherlock held out his hand and was waving it slightly.

"Sherlock! It´s your phone and it´s just at the other end of the table!"

Sherlock waved again.

John sighed again and stood up.

"I don´t know why I´m putting up with this." He said, as he handed him the phone.

Their fingertips brushed lightly.

_Sherlock:_

I make John handing me things. It´s just that most of the things aren´t worth for me reaching for them. A waste of energy. A waste of brain activity. And Johns´ hands are perfect for handling my stuff. His fingers are short and stocky, but well built and strong. And masculine. And reliable. And he´s got that typical tan all over them. And I like the way they touch me. Self confident, when holding me from falling off a rooftop. Gentle and almost shy, when our fingertips brush.

_John:_

I lied. I do know why I´m putting up with this. Sherlock Holmes, the man who´s got an ego as high as Big Ben, has the palest hands I´ve ever seen. It´s almost like I´m living with an undead. How he moves them is remarkable. He stretches and bends and flexes and curls and balls. I always found his hands interesting and didn´t understand why such beautiful hands didn´t get more action. But since our fingertips brushed, that one November night, and I felt the soft skin wrapped around, I hand him everything he wants.

**Sorry for the delay. Irene locked my muse up in a cage.**


	8. Jumble Sale

**Jumble Sale**

"Sherlock! We got to go home now! We promised Mrs. Hudson to be back till dinner."

Sherlock briefly took his eyes off a golden pocket watch he hovered above, to look at his companion.

"Not hungry." He said only to focus again on the watch.

John sighed. It was like arguing with a five-year-old.

"But we promised."

Sherlock didn´t move.

"You know exactly how much it means to her that we all eat together on Sundays."

Sherlock shifted slightly.

"Dinner is boring."

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock stayed bent over the watch and looked up at John with his best puppy eyes.

"Just one more?"

John groaned, moved his head from left to right and said: "Fine. But just this one."

Sherlock focused on the watch again and started deducing.

_John:_

This annoying prick! We´ve been here for five hours now and he´s still not tired of it. It kind of sweet. He´s like a little kid. Taking everything in carefully, examining every piece and stunned by the whole mass. As I read about it, I just thought it would be nice to get him off his couch and out of the house, since he hadn´t left it in two days. With no case occupying his mind and that awful twitch in his hands, he was getting me worried. And when I dragged his sorry ass out on the streets. There we are. I didn´t have to dress him. At least he did that himself. But I… I don´t know who I feel about it.

_Sherlock: _

Unsigned, 19. Century, Italy? No. Germany? Likely. Bavaria. No engraving. Not a present. Bought it for himself. An article of daily use. Well treated, no scratches, only small marks at the edges, maybe kept in a pocket together with a pencil, spent it´s last years in a case forgotten somewhere, only to be sold today. The old lady, fourth generation? needs the money. Her arthritis acts up and she wants to move to a home for the elderly.

"Now that was indeed a nice idea, John! Let us go to the next jumble sale soon."

Sherlock strode forward, a smug expression on his face.

John didn´t even manage to complain as he carried Sherlock´s bags full of odds and sods through the streets of London.

In it: a little golden pocket watch.

**Been on a jumble sale today. Think it suits Sherly.**


	9. Diamond Jubilee

**Diamond Jubilee**

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he entered.

"Aw, the diamond jubilee? Are we really watching this?"

John looked up briefly at his mate, who was dressed like a butcher.

"No, Sherlock. I am watching this. You just came in, looking like a maniac and smelling like a whole slaughter house."

The butcher Sherlock started to strip to the bone, making John turning around again with wide eyes only to notice, that he could still see the now naked detective in the mirror.

Sherlock sat down nevertheless, took the cup, which was already waiting for him, and crossed his legs.

John wanted to be able to focus again.

"I really like her dress." He said awkwardly.

Sherlock eyed him through the mirror from under his dark lashes, slowly sipping his herbal tea.

"It… being all cream-coloured… and shiny… and sparkly…" He cleared his throat as Sherlock continued his stare.

"I´ll let Mycroft know you appreciated his choice."

John was experienced enough to know, that it wasn´t a joke.

"Will ya? Thanks."

**Just something small, that came to my mind.**


	10. Shirts

**Shirts**

A loud 'clang' echoed though the whole building of 221.

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks.

John stared at him perplexed.

He looked at the broken teacup, then at his roommate, then at the broken teacup again.

Sherlock started ripping off his orange-coloured shirt and frowned at John. "Oh, shut up! That is entirely your fault!"

Johns´ big grin dropped as he responded slightly angry. "How is it my fault when your overstrung button finally jumps off your shirt while you stretch?"

Sherlock, now stripped to the waist, snatched the fugitive button off the coffee table. "How is it your fault? Well, let´s see. Who is the one, who insists in stuffing me with tea and biscuits at almost every possibility?"

John was now clearly offended. "At every possibility? You hardly ate a half yesterday!"

"I didn´t need to eat anything, but you kept glancing at me until I finally nibbled at it."

John clenched his jaw and fixed his eyes on the Sunday Times again. He somehow wanted half-naked Sherlock to stay. But he couldn´t bear it-is-all-your-fault-half-naked Sherlock. "Just go change!"

_Sherlock: _

Look at that! Just look at that! All my shirts are this tight! They fit perfectly since 10th grade and now I can´t bend over a corpse to inspect it properly, because I have to fear of ripping my shirt and giving a show to the whole Yarders. Maybe it is partly my fault. When he looks at me like that during meals, I just have to have a bite. I want to make him happy. Since when have I been so manipulable?

_John:_

Remember John, it´s your duty as a doctor to always do what´s best for your patient. If your patient needs to gain weight, you´ll make him eat. Even if said patient resists extremely and is not willing to understand the purpose of your treatment. You´ll always do what´s best for him. You´ll do what´s best for Sherlock.

**Small advertisement: "Not supposed to go like that" got a second chapter. Please check it out.**


	11. Cold

**Cold**

Being trapped in a dark alleyway in the middle of London during a snowstorm was not good. Not good at all. Even when you were pressed flat against Sherlock Holmes.

_John:_

Aw come on! That can´t be true! We got ourselves… no! Sherlock got us trapped again. An alleyway. In the dark. Without backup. Hiding from a brute group of serial rapists. But wait. There is one light in the darkness. They´re not after guys. That means if they catch us, they´ll kill us without raping us first! Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant. I can barely feel my fingers and the warmth in my toes is just a memory. I bet he did it on purpose. …no, he wouldn´t risk our health like that. Would he?

"Sherlock…"

"Not now, John."

"…"

"…"

"Can´t we…"

"John."

"But I´m really getting cold, y´know?"

Sherlock stared at his flatmate for 5.05 seconds only to look back up the alley like nothing had happened.

Only when the snowstorm seemed to seize a bit, John felt Sherlock wrapping them both in his coat, pulling him closer.

"Are they gone yet?"

_Sherlock:_

Yes.

"No."

"..m´kay."

It was not good. At all…

**Hi guys and girls! I´m currently working on an AU Alpha/Omega-verse Sherlock fic. Please keep an eye open for it.**


	12. Ache

**Ache**

"John."

"Mmh~m?"

"My stomach hurts."

"Mhm!"

The doctor, formerly reading his medical journal, sprang into action immediately. Since his flatmate was never willing to give into any physical pain, sometimes even not acknowledging it, John knew the seriousness of this exclamation. He sat on the edge of the couch Sherlock was laying on and rubbed his hands against each other. Nothing worse than startling his patient with a cold touch.

"Where does it hurt?"

Sherlocks hands, formerly laying passively at his sides, gestured vague at the center of his tummy, his eyes not leaving the ceiling.

When Johns hands pressed softly against him, Sherlock let out a sigh, his hands fell back onto the cushions and his shoulders relaxed.

_Sherlock:_

Feels empty, longing. Not food, drink. Nothing like that. Know that feeling. Not it. Eaten only 12 hours ago. Can´t be it. But feels empty. Wanting something. Asked John before, but didn´t answer. Maybe not home again. Went worse. Now Johns touch. Makes it better. Much better. Almost gone.

_John:_

I can´t feel a knot or a tense area. Everything seems alright, but if Sherlock tells me he´s feeling it, there has to be something. Maybe the Pad Thai from lunch, but I had it too, well, had the most of it. The flu maybe? Not that he was outside the flat for the last days. What could it be?

"It´s better now."

"Well... Okay… then I´ll…"

John gestured at his armchair and heaved himself to his feet again.

He licked his lips and said after a short pause: "Tell me if you´re feeling bad again, will ya."

He wasn´t really expecting an answer, therefore was even more surprised when his flatmate mumbled a response before curling into a ball and facing the back of the couch.

"… I will… thank you…"

**Please let me know what you think, so I know it´s not complete rubbish and feel free to suggest a theme.**

**Thanks to all the supporters! Your input is appreciated. :)**


	13. Notebook

**Notebook**

"Where is my…? Sherlock!"

Said detectives fingers laid lightly on the keys of Johns notebook. Sherlock was staring at them, his eyes a bit clouded. Not his usual thinking pose. And every so often a sigh escaped his moist lips. He looked almost vulnerable today in his light blue shirt.

He only looked up when the device was ripped out from underneath his hands.

"Sherlock!" John for a moment tried to fix his flatmate with his best angry glare. He didn´t manage much, nothing like Sherlock or, god help, Mycroft could come up with, but he did his best. "That is mine!"

Sherlock continued looking at him with wide grey eyes, hands in the air, seemingly shocked.

And John immediately felt bad for bawling at him, being a good person and all…

John took a step back and lowered his weapon, aka is notebook.

"Look Sherlock" John scratched the back of his neck. "I know it´s more comfortable for you to use my stuff instead of going into the kitchen to get yours, but please… don´t do that again."

Silence filled the flat and when the only answer he received was Sherlock knitting his brows together, John fidgeted a bit awkwardly and then decided to get his notebook out of reach of the detective.

_Sherlock:_

The password, no hindrance at all. Dalek. Really? After he made me watch this horrendous series, does he really think I could not deduce something so simple? At least it was useful for that. Good I have not deleted it yet. Laying my fingertips against the keys. Soft. Warm. John. It´s almost like feeling Johns fingertips against mine.

_John:_

Why does he always have to use my things? What´s so special about them? Only recently I witnessed him using my cup! And of course there it is. His notebook. In the kitchen. Three feet away. Three bloody feet. And it looks fine to me. It´s even better than mine! The design is smoother, the colours brighter and the keys are soft. Warm. And… and it´s almost like feeling Sherlocks fingertips against mine.

**Please leave a request if you want to read about something special and let me in on your thoughts!**


	14. Morning

**Morning**

"Good morning, Sherlock! Tea? Biscuits?"

John stood, arms crossed in the middle of their living room.

The noise of Londons´ rush hour could be heard through the open window and smog was streaming in together with it. The men and women normally shouting numbers at each other in the City were now fleeing town, like a ship that sunk.

Sherlock, still a bit gloomy from this forced rest, uncurled on the sofa, stretched and wriggled his toes at John.

"Morning? You mean afternoon. It IS nine to five, isn´t it?" Sherlock lifted his eyebrows at his flatmate, now looking at him, but keeping his arse firmly seated on his precious couch, making it clear not to have any intention to get up.

Just as John parted his lips to answer, Sherlock added "Tea would be nice. Two sugars."

John seemed like he wanted to respond, but changing his mind with shaking his head little, he turned and started into the direction of the kitchen, like a dutiful soldier would.

_John:_

I really shouldn´t let him get away with that. Especially not after the night he brought me. I don´t seem able to really reject him. Maybe I should see the psychiatrist on that matter. Damn him and his bloody `out of bed`-look. His shirt travelling up his body, revealing pale, smooth skin. His eyes shining light grey. His hair all tousled, his locks framing his face. It is… not handsome at all. Not handsome.

_Sherlock:_

John. John. John. My mind won´t shut up about you. John. John. John. We´ve only been flatmates for eight months, nine days, four hours and two minutes. John. John. John. So why are you filling that much space in my mind palace? John. John. John. Because your eyes shine brighter when you´re annoyed, or amused? John. John. John. Because there always seems to be the hint of a grin on your lips? John. John. John. Because you´re putting up with me like that? John. John. John.

**Please let me know if you liked it**!


	15. Girlfriend

**Girlfriend**

"Where are you going?"

A bundle of blue pajamas and grey dressing gown asked.

"Out."

Sherlock was lounging on the couch as always. His head, formerly covered by his forearms, was now propped up on them. A frown began to decorate his face, starting from between his eyes, it spread across his forehead, wrinkling it, and pulling his lips into a tight line.

"Out? Where?"

John was currently busy with tying his shoelaces, a jovial smile on his lips. He wore his cream coulored cord trousers and new dark brown jumper. He shrugged on a matching jacket, then turned to his flatmate.

"Jordan?"

Sherlock pulled an extra sour face, expressing his confusion.

Johns mouth fell open slightly and after rolling his eyes at the ceiling, he sighed.

"Jordan. The physiotherapist. It´s our fourth date. I told you again this morning."

Sherlock bit his lips for a second, pondering, and eventually replied.

"You were at the flat this morning?"

With that, John turned on his heels and left.

_Sherlock:_

What? What did I do? Who is this Jordan-woman anyways? What did he say she was? Physiologist? Psychologist? Whatever. He, looking all smug, like a little boy at Christmas Eve. Damn his new jumper. Making him look all warm and comfortable and trustworthy. Damn his new trousers. Pointing out his backside. He could have also gone naked.

_John:_

Keys. Money. Phone. Toothbrush. Good god. I´m gonna get laid tonight, and god save the queen!

**Hold onto hope. A little (men)loving is on its way!**


End file.
